


'till I may be the diver's wife

by crystaldeer



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: (sort of), Background Victuuri - Freeform, Birthday Party, Coming of Age, Discussing About The Delicate Subject Of Gender, Gen, Gender Identity, Gender Issues, M/M, Multi, Yuri Plisetsky-centric, abundant usage of parenthesis, also Yuri skates to Joanna Newsom, brief mention of panic attacks, this is about Yurio growing up and his relationship with those around him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-30
Updated: 2017-04-30
Packaged: 2018-10-25 23:37:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10774854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crystaldeer/pseuds/crystaldeer
Summary: “What do you envision when you listen to this song, Yura?” Viktor asks.(Yuri can’t remember the last time Viktor was so nice to him. He is not sure how he is supposed to feel about this.)“I…” Yuri starts, and it is so hard to let the words pass through the knot that tangles his chords, every single bit of his mind somehow screaming that this is a mistake “When I first listened to it, I misheard the verse ‘but would cost her less’ as ‘but would cost her legs’ so I… I thought about mermaids?”or; Yuri Plisetsky, the metaphor of the mermaid, and growing pains.





	'till I may be the diver's wife

**Author's Note:**

> _"A diver is my love_   
>  _And I am his, if I am not deceived_   
>  _Who takes one breath above for every hour below the sea_
> 
> _Who gave to me a jewel_  
>  _Worth twice this woman's life, but would cost her less_  
>  _Than laying at low tide to see her true love phosphoresce_  
>     
>  _And in an infinite regress_  
>  _Tell me why is the pain of birth_  
>  _Lighter borne than the pain of death?_  
>  _I ain't saying that I loved you first_  
>  _But I loved you best"_  
> [ **Joanna Newsom- Divers**](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=48xlgXqQKLA)  
>  this fic solely exists because I was listening obsessively to Joanna Newsom's Divers and I thought "Yurio would skate this song so well" and here we are
> 
> I told you I never would write fics longer than 4k words but I guess I LIED
> 
> anyway, there isn't much agreement about the year Yuri!!! On Ice takes place in, I suppose its an alternative timeline than ours, but for the sake of some things that happen in this fic, I'm going to assume it took place in 2015, so bear with me
> 
> also, Gender (tm) is a heavy theme in here and there's a brief description of a short panic attack that starts at _"He holds back the tears of anger that threaten to escape..."_ and ends at _"And Yakov doesn’t yell at him..."_ but it is really very short
> 
> anyway, enjoy

And when the 2015 Grand Prix ends, the events unfold like this:

Yuri Plisetsky goes back home to Russia and is treated like a hero by his family and peers; the boy wears his medal like a necklace every single day, until Yakov tells him to stop doing that, or it will get stolen. Yuri then keeps it tied snuggly around his bedpost, and so he gets to wake up looking at it every single morning.

The Russian Nationals’ come through like a road-roller, before any of them could even breath. Viktor Nikiforov does his comeback to the competitive figure skating world, but with no time to think about a new choreography, he repeats his previous _Stammi Viccino_ number. Viktor receives lower scores than previously, but the numbers are still higher than anybody else’s, and so, he still wins gold.

Viktor leaves again, heading to Hasetsu once more, and Yuri stays behind, practicing extra hours out of spite.

(Yuuri Katsuki wins gold at the Japanese Nationals before that and Yuri congratulates him with a text message; as much as he is happy for _Katsudon_ , Yuri still feels the need to also lightly insult him in said message.)

Soon enough, the year of 2015 is over.

There’s barely time to rest, so after spending the first week of the New Year with his family, smothered in his _mama’s_ embrace, Yuri goes back to Saint Petersburg to be under his coach care again. The schedule is tight, with the European Skating Championships just around the corner, and yet, every single time the boy hears Yakov yelling at _fucking_ Viktor through a _fucking_ cellphone screen, Yuri feels like they are wasting a valuable time here.

(Yuri doesn’t understand and doesn’t accept that Viktor is not right there with them, training, if Four Continents is only in February—which means that Viktor, himself, not _Katsudon_ , should be his own priority right now. When Yuri asked Viktor that, in admittedly not a _polite_ way, he learned that Yuuri is moving to Russia and that, apparently, there is a lot of paperwork for them to go through.

Yuri doesn’t understand either why did Viktor think that being both a coach and a competitor was a good idea and he still is angry that the ISU allowed it.

In fact, Yuri knows that Viktor is only allowed at these competitions because Viktor Nikiforov is a brand that comes in a nice, fashionable package.)

Either way, January goes by. A week before the Championships, Viktor comes back. Yuri wins first place at the 2016 European Championships, Viktor gets second place, Christophe Giacometti gets third. The victory is bitter on Yuri’s tongue—he knows the only reason Viktor scored lower than him was because he barely got the time to elaborate a new performance.

Viktor goes back to Japan to train Yuuri for the Four Continents, Yuri stays behind studying his routine and trying to push himself harder and harder. He checks his Facebook timeline at night, when he comes back from practice, and sees some classmates throwing a party somewhere, other classmates are going to the movies. Nobody has invited Yuri out since middle school because they know it’s pointless.

_Whatever._

In mid-February, Yuuri Katsuki wins gold at Four Continents, Otabek Altin wins silver and, in a surprising turn of events, Phichit Chulanont wins bronze. Yuri is absolutely _delighted_ that Jean-Jacques Leroy didn’t reach the podium, and judging by how Viktor casually comments the fact with him later, so is the former as well.

(Yuri later messages Otabek to congratulate him and they talk for some solid couple of hours about everything and nothing at all.)

And finally, a week later, Yuri Plisetsky is sixteen years old.

The Russian Skating Team threw him a party on the Saturday, March 5th, because March 1st was on a Tuesday. His family helped; his _dedushka_ made all the food, a festival of _pirozhki_ of all possible fillings and a big cake. He spends most of the party eating like a savage, glued to his family, trying to make up for all the time he keeps losing. His _mama_ dotes on him and on how he grew a centimeter or two since they last talked in person.

The other skaters are already mostly drunk, dancing to cheesy Eurobeat hits from the late 90s and early 2000s. Georgi and Mila challenge him to a competition, but Yuri refuses, preferring to observe and record _blackmail material_ instead. This is a valuable lesson he learned from Phichit, during the little time they talked at the Grand Prix.

(Still, Yuri notices how he took the place of an observer in a party supposedly for him.)

Viktor arrives some hours later, by the afternoon, walking hand-in-hand with Yuuri. This is the first time Yuri has actually seen _Katsudon_ since December, and there is some sort of change to him that Yuri can’t really place, and prefers not to. Yuuri is always polite to him, _too_ polite, almost afraid, and Yuri can’t understand why an adult would be afraid of him and so is he bothered by such. Viktor is his usual self, a fake bastard that holds a friendly distance between him and everybody else that is not his fiancé, while having the gall to pull Yuri’s ear sixteen times as if they are the closest of friends.

And so, Yuri is forced to actually hold a conversation with someone else other than his _mama_ or _dedushka_ during the party for the first time in hours. His English is not as fluent as the couple’s is; Yuri stumbles upon words and makes slightly long pauses to recall them, all the while wondering how the other Yuuri is going to survive from now on if his knowledge of the Russian language is beginners’ level at best. But Viktor, ever the warm host or something of the likes, carries most of the talking, helping them both when the language barrier becomes too much.

Yuuri and Viktor, they are… Weird. They are polar opposites—Yuuri is a nervous wreck most of the time he has to interact with proper human beings, and he always looks like a confused puppy (except for when he is on the ice). Viktor is the type of introvert who puts on an extravagant persona as so to pass through the necessary social conventions without looking unsympathetic and cold, all the while keeping a distinct distance between himself and his interlocutors.

Yuuri looks like the most domestic of men, Viktor is always restless for adventures in museums and touristic spots (part of the reason why, Yuri believes, figure skating appeals so much to him). Yuuri dresses like the average nerd that he is, Viktor spends a ridiculous amount of money in designer wear.

Somehow, they are the happiest couple Yuri have ever met.

So happy it makes him want to kick them out of his sight almost _every single time_.

But, they do like Yuri a lot; they literally told him as much after the Grand Prix banquet last year. They _literally_ said to him that they were _so proud_ of his victory and that they liked him _so much_ and Yuri felt slightly touched by their intoxicated confession back then. And Yuri reluctantly admits that he thinks that these two are _alright_ , a bit too sappy for his taste sometimes, but still a somewhat valuable company.

(Even if it’s just for the involuntary skating lessons they provide him.)

The party is over and everybody leaves, Yuri’s family as well, after they are done helping him clean up. Yuri is alone in his bed with a basket full of birthday gifts and cards. The majority of them are superfluous souvenirs from acquaintances, but there are also genuinely nice gifts scattered around, clothing and keychains and stuff that may look silly at first but that the boy knows he will cherish.

Viktor and Yuuri left him a somewhat big box, because _of course_ they did. He’s almost afraid to open it because Yuri hates people spending too much money on him, but he does anyway, because it’s his birthday, because he won last year’s Grand Prix, because Viktor is going to bother him about this later.

Yuri opens the box and is greeted first with a card in an envelope. He opens it, and it’s an obvious children’s card with a cartoon lion wearing a party hat, surrounded by balloons, and the words “お誕生日おめでとう”—he thinks he doesn’t need a translation for this. The inside is plain, but there is a message in English, written in Viktor’s elegant cursive writing:

_“Dear Yurio,_

_We want to wish you a happy birthday and a happy skating season. We also want to wish you a happy and bright New Year, because we couldn’t do that earlier. We really hope good things happen to you this year, because you deserve it. You are a great boy and we love you very much, and if you ever need a friendly word of advice or a couch to spend the night, we swear we will always try to be there for you._

_With love,_

勇利 _&_ Ви́ктор _”_

(Yuri makes a mental note to message them later and scold their general sappiness and he absolutely _does not_ sniff and feel his eyes tear up. He’s not mellow like them, he’s not fragile, he doesn’t get touched easily. _Yuri would never cry over a birthday card._ )

He tears the dark orange tissue paper and puts it aside, and the first item Yuri gets is a bomber jacket. And _what_ a jacket it is—a few sizes too big, because he will, thankfully, grow up more; red and black polyester and a big tiger surrounded by demons (or ogres?) embroidered in the back. It’s was probably worth his weight in gold, but it’s also perfect, so perfect Yuri doesn’t even find it in him to be annoyed that _Viktor_ got him the perfect gift.

But, there are more things inside that box. There is a tiger plush toy, but it looks more like a kitten, its head big and its eyes huge and plastic, with glitter inside; there’s another tiger, this one small and made of patches of fabric, and there is a note wrapped around its neck written “Yuuko”. _‘She remembered me_ ’, Yuri thinks, and of course Yuuko did, she sent him messages wishing him a happy birthday last Tuesday. She, and Otabek, and other international skaters as well.

Last, there’s a package of [cat themed stationary](http://www.stationerysaturday.com/2017/02/04/daiso-message-card-envelope-set/)—a small notebook full of cats with _“Animal Party”_ written in the center, little kitten-printed envelopes and letter paper, cat shaped sticky notes, message cards and more envelopes, stickers, two kinds of sticky bookmarks, and even a decorative sort of tape. Yuuri probably got him these; Yuri’s not sure if he’s ever going to use them.

Whatever is left of his night is ordinary. Yuri feeds his actual cats, Misha and Nastya, stores his gifts away, and heads to bed. His phone vibrates with a WhatsApp notification from Otabek.

Yuri taps it, and is welcomed by a photography of another gift box and the text _“can you tell me your address so I can send you this”_ ; he smiles, lying down to type an answer.

**Yuri [10:40 pm]:** can’t believe you really bought me something

**Yuri [10:41 pm]:** also my birthday was on tuesday so whatever

**Beka [10:43 pm]:** I know you only celebrate birthdays on weekends so I thought I should only give your gift today?

**Yuri [10:44 pm]:** you’re not really giving it to me

**Yuri [10:44 pm]:** you only sent me the photo

**Beka [10:45 pm]:** do you want this or not

Yuri laughs, but more of a breathy and tired sigh than a laugh.

**Yuri [10:47 pm]:** i wish you were here

**Beka [10:48 pm]:** oh look, you’re being cute

**Yuri [10:50 pm]:** jesus i fucking mean it okay

**Beka** **[10:51 pm]:** I know

**Beka** **[10:51 pm]:** stupid

**Beka [10:52 pm]:** pay my plane ticket next year and I’ll even dj for you

Yuri types “ _deal_ ”, and falls asleep soon after tapping the “send” button.

\---

Otabek’s gift to Yuri was another tiger plush. Instead of storing it away with the others, this one stays on his bed.

Yuri trains, and trains, and trains harder, and Worlds come and he gets silver, Viktor gets gold, Yuuri gets bronze. Some ugly part of Yuri’s mind wished that Viktor was still retired, or that the ISU unqualified him because of the whole coach-and-skater business, because it seems that the only moment any of them have a chance of winning is when Viktor is away.

And Yuri tries to drown those ill thoughts, he really does, but afterwards he can’t congratulate him without also adding an acid commentary about how he should enjoy his last season before he is too old to even stand up and go take a piss. And Viktor, _ever_ the gentleman, _ever_ the diplomat, just smiles, kisses Yuri on the cheek and tells him how proud they, Yuuri and him, are of Yuri winning silver.

And is not that he doesn’t believe them, because Yuri does, he really does.

(It’s just, it is so frustrating for Yuri to conclude, once again, that his Grand Prix victory was just a product of fate because Viktor wasn’t there. It doesn’t feel so good anymore to beat Viktor’s record if as soon as the man is back in the game, Yuri can’t stand a chance.

If nobody can.)

That’s why before they part ways, Yuri pulls the _Katsudon_ man by the arm and, staring deep into his confused eyes, very eloquently makes him promise that at least one of them should try to beat Viktor off the podium. Viktor himself seems very amused by this exchange, eyes gleaming annoyingly.

Instead of running away like expected, though, Yuuri just smiles and answers him, “Sure. I will beat Viktor next time. I have to, otherwise we will never get married, right?”

Yuuri and Viktor leave, and Yuri keeps making the same promises of becoming better than Viktor that he always does.

\---

Yuuri Katsuki finally moves in with Viktor in the end of April, early May, or so Yuri is told by Mila.

For Yuri, the season is over. Yakov advices him to take these weeks off and focus on his own studies, and Yuri gladly disobeys, even if he has to sneak in the rink late at night, because he knows every practice day is a day he will later have of advantage against other skaters.

Especially because Viktor and Yuuri are having a brief vacation, or so he heard. They claim it is for Yuuri to settle down and get to know his new home and his new city, but Yuri is not a child and he knows they will probably just spend weeks doing… Things.

(He makes a mental note to never show up at their apartment unannounced.)

So, Yuri practices until his feet ache and his joints creak and until Yakov finds out he was disobeying his orders; and when the wounds on his toes hurt too much, he spends days and days exploring YouTube and Spotify for songs to use in his next program.

Yakov wants him to skate to Antonio Vivaldi’s _Le quattro stagioni_ , the [Winter Suite](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TZCfydWF48c), for his free program; Yuri researches all the previous numbers already skated to the Four Seasons and he tells Yakov that this is a cliche and he won’t do it.

(Yuri is a lot of things, but not a cliche, never a cliche.)

“Fine, but you have a week to come up with a better suggestion” Yakov have answered him, never taking his eyes off his notes regarding Viktor’s upcoming season.

And so, Yuri spends his weekend with ice on his toes and his headphones on. His first impulse is to skate to a Progressive Metal song, but Otabek quickly changes his mind; advises Yuri to give the idea up or else he would have to skate the routine of his life to compensate all the points he would lose for “lack of artistry”. Otabek ends up offering help, sending him mostly indie, soft songs with a classical or baroque instrumental approach to them.

(Songs with women singers, mostly.)

Yuri’s eyes twitch just by reading the titles, but he knows Beka means well; there’s no way he would know or even understand why the suggestion that Yuri should skate to a female singer makes his skin itch and crawl in a very not good way. Why the thought of having to act all shy and demure on the ice again makes him want to rip his hair off and pull his teeth out. Why he was looking for masculine voices and aggressive melodies in the first place.

But, he listens to the songs anyway, because he knows Otabek took his time looking them up, because he doesn’t want the man to feel like his effort was useless, because Yuri wants to be a good friend to the only friend he ever had. Yuri listens and is drawn to some of them and he _hates it_ , he hates that he keeps being pulled in by finesse and raw honesty so easily, because an ice tiger shouldn’t get emotional listening to a girl sing.

Yuri hates it, also, how he can’t lie to Otabek at all when he is asked if he liked any of the music, if he would be interested in showing any of these to Yakov.  He did, most of it; he is, some of them.

He revisits the playlist Beka arranged for him again later, after a couple of days of binge watching slasher movies and accumulating useless knowledge about Technical Death Metal. Yuri goes through a process of elimination—too obscure, too weird, won’t sound good in a speaker, old pop songs that were already done by Viktor before, can’t think of an interesting routine, too long…

In the end, Yuri ignores his own rules of “too weird, too obscure, too long” when he starts paying attention to a particular [song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=48xlgXqQKLA) from an album he was mindlessly listening to, by, once again, Otabek’s recommendation.

After Yuri listens to it three times in a row, he hesitantly sends the song to Viktor, asking him what he thinks.

**Viktor [6:10 PM]:** It’s a pretty song, Yura

**Viktor [6:11 PM]:** Didn’t know this artist, I liked her a lot, is she American?

**Yuri [6:12 PM]:** yeah

**Yuri [6:12 PM]:** you think i could skate to this?

**Viktor [6:12 PM]:** Well, it is a very long song

**Viktor [6:13 PM]:** Seven minutes and such

**Yuri [6:14 PM]:** but do you think i could skate to it?

**Viktor [6:17 PM]:** Absolutely

\---

Yuri decides to be a good student and arrives early for practice on Monday.

On his way to the rink, he sees his own face illustrating the matte pages of a newspaper in a newsstand. Yuri takes a detour from his path, intending to buy it and add to his collection of articles about himself, but stops dead in his tracks as he reads the title of said article:

_“Yuri Plisetsky: the Russian Fairy that keeps on conquering…”_

Yuri immediately fishes a black marker out of his backpack, scribbles all over the word _“fairy”_ until it becomes unrecognizable and writes _“ice tiger”_ above it. The boy considers doing this to the dozens of newspapers stacked one on top of another when the old man that manages the newsstand spots him and starts yelling that he needs to pay for those now, _little punk_.

(Let it never be said that all the physical conditioning Yuri does didn’t make him the fastest when it comes to running.)

Yuri, for the first time, arrives earlier than Yakov and everybody else. He didn’t expect, though, to find _fucking Viktor Nikiforov_ skating absently-minded in the middle of the ice rink at six in the morning to [Kate Bush](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6xckBwPdo1c).

_Honestly._

“Hey, old man, forgot to take your sleeping pills last night?” Yuri shouts at the top of his lungs, and he really wants Viktor to startle and fall, because that would be hilarious, but he doesn’t.

The insufferable man, he stops perfectly still and _smiles at Yuri_.

“Good morning, Yurio! So nice to see you here so early in the morning, it is a little lonely to be the first to arrive…”

“Yeah, and why are you alone anyway? Where’s the _Katsudon_ man?”

“Ah, Yuuri is still asleep in our home, he always looks so pretty and peaceful when sleeping that I felt bad about waking him up” Jesus, Viktor is already calling his flat _their home._

“Besides” Viktor adds “Yuuri is really _not_ a morning person.”

“Oh, _I see_ … Do you think Yakov is going to think it’s _really cool_ for the new dude at his rink to show up late, though?”

“Yakov is not Yuuri’s coach, I am. Yuuri has absolutely no obligation of waking up when Yakov wants; besides, I think our dear coach likes my Yuuri.”

_My_ Yuuri.

“Really? How so? He made you drop your career and fly all the way to Japan to train him, with no guarantee any of this would even work, just because of a stupid crush.”

“And Yuuri also ‘puts some sense in my head’, or something like that.  If Yakov disliked Yuuri, he wouldn’t even be able to train here with me in the first place, Yurio.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

Viktor knows this is Yuri’s way of ending any discussion, so he doesn’t make any further amends, just gives Yuri a meaningful look and goes back to skating. Yuri puts his on skates on and enters the rink, immediately moving towards the end of it, wanting to stay away from Viktor.

Yuri starts doing warm-ups, and doesn’t admit that he likes this particular Kate Bush song and that he thought of skating to it until he remembered that Viktor did so when he was eighteen.

Yakov arrives twenty minutes or so later, together with the remaining skaters. He seems surprised to see Yuri there so early, but doesn’t comment on that; Yuri knows that Mila probably will, later, anyway.

For the following couple of hours, Yakov will evaluate each song suggestion his athletes may bring, by playing them through the rink speakers. That way, he will be able to tell if the song translates well to an audience and judging panel, or not.

(Everybody must do the listening together, as so to understand what qualifies as “good skating music” and what doesn’t.)

“Well, do our dear golden medalists want to start first, since you two arrived earlier?” Yakov asks Viktor and Yuri, and Yuri knows that this is the old man’s way of acting affectionate towards them.

“I think that maybe Yurachka wants to start” Viktor answers, and smiles at him even as Yuri scoffs at the nickname.

But Yuri accepts the gesture and goes first anyway. Plugs his phone to the rink’s speakers and presses play with trembling fingers. Yuri pretends not to be sweating cold through his hands while Yakov attentively listens, pretends he is not avoiding Yakov’s gaze, not wanting to see the disapproval it might hold; Yuri doesn’t die when the song passes the five-minute mark and Yakov idly comments that it’s very long; don’t breathe until the last note stops.

“ _Well_ ,” Yakov begins and Yuri swallows the anguished noise threatening to escape his throat “I think it’s… Different, Yurachka. But, _good_ different. It fits with the approach we are working with you since your last season and I’m sure it will surprise the judges.”

Yuri means to answer a thank you, means to be polite, but instead the word he grunts is just a “Good.”

“Vitya,” Yakov turns to Viktor “Do you mind discussing the number with Yuri while I evaluate the others? Or is your own song too urgent?”

“No, not at all. I will help our Yuri out, gladly” Viktor smiles and it’s disgusting that Yuri thinks that he is not even lying this time.

Viktor sits down with him in a bench far, far away from the other skaters. His tone is friendly and his words are quiet, secretive.

“What do you envision when you listen to this song, Yura?” Viktor asks.

(Yuri can’t remember the last time Viktor was so _nice_ to him. He is not sure how he is supposed to feel about this.)

“I…” Yuri starts, and it is so hard to let the words pass through the knot that tangles his chords, every single bit of his mind somehow screaming that this is a mistake “When I first listened to it, I misheard the verse ‘but would cost her less’ as ‘but would cost her legs’ so I… I thought about mermaids?”

“I see. Yes, the song does have a very strong nautical theme to it.”

Viktor looks at him expectantly, the “go on” implied on his patient smile. Yuri wants to scream that _he is not a child_ to this hateful man.

“So, well. Mermaids. I thought of that approach.”

“Alright. Mermaids, it is. Oh, I know! You could ask Yakov to help you reference the Andersen’s fairytale in the choreograph. We could also get you such a pretty costume to fit in… It’s going to be brilliant, Yuri!”

Yuri ruminates the word in his head. Chews on it, opts to spit it out.

“I’m not ‘pretty’, Viktor.”

“No, no, of course you are, Yurio! And with the right costume and the right choreography, you’re going to be _the prettiest_ out there. Well, except maybe when Yuuri is competing too, then _he_ is going to be the prettiest but ah, well, you understand…”

Yuri lets Viktor ramble, even though Viktor is the one that doesn’t understand.

(But Yuri knows that none of them ever really did.)

Viktor plays his [song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vy7yuj-UrNI) somewhat later. It’s an indie piece, melancholic and quiet until it bursts with colorful energy. Viktor says that it’s the opening tune to a Scandinavian police TV show; Yuri doesn’t care much—he thinks the buildup will be hard to work with, but when he says that out loud, Yakov says that Yuri’s song has the exact same problem.  

Yuri disagrees, but, _whatever_.

Yuuri shows up sometime before noon, he showcases his own [song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-9ChgBmJyBk) as well. It’s _another_ indie piece (is everybody there a hipster, now?) that Yuri can’t help but find very similar to Viktor’s one. Yuuri is not ashamed to admit that Viktor helped him choose it, not the tiniest bit ashamed.

Yuri scoffs something he won’t remember later and he can picture it already—matching choreographies and matching costumes as if it was meant to be a pair skating.

_Sappiness._

(Yuri decides to focus on himself only and tune out the world for the day, the echoes of _“pretty, you’re going to be the prettiest”_ incessant and annoying in his head.)

\---

It is later that week when Yuri forgets his earphones somewhere in the rink and needs to sneak in during the night to retrieve them.

It is a little past nine; the rink closed at least an hour ago, but one could get a copy of the key if so they wish to practice extra hours. Still, after a busy day, they rarely stay; and so, the building mostly looks deserted and ghostly, lights out and only the faint noise of electric equipment buzzing perpetually at the background.

Thereof, Yuri is confused at first when he hears a faint melody, coming distantly from the ice rink, at this hour. He stops quickly by the locker room and finds his earphones easily on the floor with the aid of his phone’s flash light.

Instead of turning around and leaving, however, Yuri finds he’s more curious to see who’s even still here.

And it’s not really a surprise when he quietly approaches the rink and sees Viktor standing on the middle of the it, illuminated by a single light. Yuri figured that if someone would train extra hours at the rink, this someone would be Viktor; if Georgi is to be trusted, it has happened before.

What glues Yuri dead in his spot, though, is seeing Yuuri slowly approach him on the ice, quiet and modest; Yuri finally recognizes, also, that the [song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1nz0t7K1prY) that plays faintly at the background was most likely done by the same artist who sings the song he chose for his free program.

And Yuri, well, Yuri wants to yell at them or to make some noise as so to distract them and ruin this sickly-sweet moment, but, he realizes he _can’t_. He can’t ruin this and he can’t stop watching the way Yuuri approaches Viktor and then turns away, how Viktor chases after Yuuri, longing for him, how Yuuri keeps pulling him in with only his gaze, how they dance around each other so…

Beautifully.

Perfectly.

Yuri never cared much for pair skating.

And yet, they skate so much better than most of the athletes at the Olympics, even. If they could skate competitively like this, they would be unstoppable.  

(It never occurred to Yuri that love, as seen from afar, looks like _this_ —the way Viktor keeps conducting Yuuri, how they never stop staring at each other, how their fingers interlace delicately, the way Viktor lifts Yuuri as if he weights nothing and yet this particular moment between them weights everything…

It is only as the music fades and Yuuri slowly chases Viktor’s lips with his own that Yuri realizes he wasn’t meant to see this.)

\---

**Yuri [10:00 PM]:** hey I saw those two at the rink

**Yuri [10:01 PM]:** they were making out

**Yuri [10:01 PM]:** gross

**Mila [10: 03 PM]:** OMG

**Mila [10:04 PM]:** vitya and yuuri????????

**Yuri [10:05 PM]:** yeah who else

**Mila [10:07 PM]:** did you take a picture????

**Yuri [10:08 PM]:** ewww no, of course i didn’t

**Mila [10:10 PM]:** too bad, you could get some money with that

**Mila [10:12 PM]:** damn sometimes I wish I could sandwich myself between them

**Yuri [10:13 PM]:** what the fuck is wrong with you old hag

\---

The months flew by, fluid and cold as ice, but it’s not like Yuri can really remember the last time a year has gone by slowly. Skate America is a couple of months away, and Yuri feels ready to snatch that trophy with his teeth if he has to.

(He bitterly remembers that Viktor isn’t going to be there, so he _might as well_.)

He grew around six centimeters since April, a bit each time. Yuri doesn’t know if he should be happy that he might get taller after all, like his _dedushka_ , or if he should get pissed that each new measurement throws his balance off every single time and that each new measurement makes him lose said time adapting.

His hair grew too, if only because Yuri can’t find the time to get it cut. So, he just lets it be, Mila even said that the movement it makes could help his number.

Yuri’s number is… a lot of things. It’s an allusion to the Little Mermaid, but also to all mercreatures, and it plays with the concept of longing for an empty love. Yakov build the jumps to follow the crescendos of the song, their difficulty increasing until the final portion of the (edited) music, with a triple lutz that follows the dramatic verses, followed by diverse movements and transitions that try to convey the desperation that keeps building until the conformed but bitter end.

(Yuri never comments that for him, his number is all about figure skating itself.)

It’s a great choreography, really.

It is harsh to his growing body and ambitious, just like Yuri needed. Yakov knows better than to go easy on him, even if it only brings Yuri blisters and broken toenails, even if his joints get hurt and his young body aches like an old man by the end of the day.

(Yakov, after all, never went easy with Viktor either.)

It is a great choreography and, yet, Yuri still feels the same dread hanging within him whenever he watches the videotaped practices when he notices how his long blond hair flows with the wind and how his arms are thin and his fingers are delicate.

(Lilia idly comments with him during ballet how a lot of it reminds her of a sculpture called _"[Apollo and Daphne"](http://cdn2.all-art.org/Architecture/images8/bernini/10a.jpg)_ and Yuri scowls and scowls.)

\---

**Yuri [10:20 PM]:** hey

**Yuri [10:21 PM]:** do you think i look like a girl

**Beka [10:23 PM]:** are you a girl, Yuri?

**Yuri [10:25 PM]:** of course i’m not a fucking girl

**Beka [10:26 PM]:** then you don’t look like a girl

**Yuri [10:28 PM]:** that answers nothing of what i asked

**Beka [10:30 PM]:** you look like a 16 yr old boy to me

**Yuri [10:32PM]:** never mind

**Yuri [10:33PM]:** forget i asked anything

\---

His costume arrives.

On the occasion that Yakov had helped Yuri design his outfit, the whole rink meddled in, Viktor more so than the others. It was made clear that there should be an emphasis on the mermaid theme, that he should have aqua blues and greens and transparency and gradients, that the fabrics should be very light. Viktor insisted in layers and lots of glitter and sewed pearls, and when Yuri objected, saying that the ISU makes it clear that the costume can’t be theatrical, Viktor dismissed him, making him a promise that it’s all for _artistry_.

“Yuuri, my dear, what else do you think our Yurio needs?” Viktor had asked _Katsudon_ on that day, who, to Yuri’s still utmost surprise, actually answered excitedly,

“I think he needs something to his face. There are… Many pretty costumes but then the skater is just… Plain?”

(There’s a very obvious hickey threatening to escape the high collar of _Katsudon’s_ shirt, and Yuri is very tempted to poke it and see what happens.)

“Ah, yes! We should think of makeup to go along with it!” Mila had interjected from out of fucking nowhere.

“Excuse me, but I’m not gonna wear any fucking makeup” Yuri had objected at that time.

“But you wore makeup in your Gala, though. Why would this be different?” Viktor had answered and Yuri couldn’t make him understand that the Gala was different because back then he wasn’t supposed to be _a fucking mermaid_.

Either way, the costume arrives and everyone once again gathers around to see it. And it’s… Amazing, really. The shirt is made of layers and layers of a thin, almost transparent fabric that was overlapped and sewn together to simulate the movement of a gradient wave. The mesh is ultramarine and it glitters against the light. Pearls were sewn all over the shirt, and also on the pair of pants, another deep ultramarine, which also shimmers subtly.

It’s beautiful.

It looks like a mermaid, or a water nymph.

Yuri doesn’t want to try it on.

Yuri doesn’t want to try it on and blames the polyester but Yakov never fell to his tantrums and so he tries the costume on and walks out without taking a single glance at the mirror.

It fits perfectly, even if the fabric itches, it fits perfectly and all the other skaters look so happy, so delighted that Yuri is dressed like a water nymph, like a mermaid. Mila and Yuuri tell him he looks beautiful and the comment is devoid of any malice, as if it’s the best thing he could look right now. Yuri looks beautiful, looks stunning, no one will compare to him in that rink, Yuri is _so pretty_ …

_“Yuri Plisetsky: the Russian Fairy…”_

“Ah, wait, Yuri, I had some ideas in the meanwhile for your makeup, Mila told me she also wants to help with your hair” Viktor says, carrying a tiny plastic case.

Yuri doesn’t want to let neither of them touch him, but he gives in anyway, keeping his permanent scowl clear. Viktor takes his time playing with an assortment of different eye shadows, while Mila keeps on braiding his hair indefinitely. They are obviously good at what they are doing, and, dares Yuri to say, they obviously care enough about him to even bother with this in the first place.

(But, Yuri is not a model. He is a figure skater.)

After what feels like hours, and probably were, Viktor and Mila are done.

They smile warmly at him, and Mila helps Yuri stand up, saying “Go take a look at yourself, Yuratchka, you look _so good_.”

Yuri doesn’t want to.

Yuri can’t look at himself right now, but Mila keeps guiding him towards the mirror at the locker room, until there’s no place to hide.

Yuri looks at his reflection, and looks hard, and harder, and he can’t even recognize himself.

His hair forms multiple, sparse braids that connect in a single ponytail; his face is full of scales, glimmering under the cold white lights; his lips are turquoise and look holographic even, depending on the angle. The costume fits him like a glove and his features are delicate and sorrowful and he, he—

He looks—

_“Russian Fairy…”_

Yuri looks like a—

“I can’t. I can’t do this.”

He holds back the tears of anger that threaten to escape and gazes meaningfully at Yakov, “I can’t wear this. Please, Yakov, I can’t wear this.”

And Yuri doesn’t cry but he realizes can’t breathe either, he can’t breathe at all and his brain barely processes that Viktor and Yuuri are trying to calm him down and make him breathe because their touch feels numb and there’s cotton stuffing his ears, his head.

And Yakov doesn’t yell at him, doesn’t scoff, instead he frowns and his frown is worse, and worse even is the way all the others look at him confused and a bit pitiful and Yakov just tells him,

“You can take the outfit off, for now. Wash your face, then take some minutes off, an hour. You need to calm down, Yurachka.”

And so, Yuri takes it off. He takes the costume off, goes back to his tracker pants and old band T-Shirt, and he washes his face, sees the makeup melt away and he is starting to recognize himself again, even if there is something off when his blue eyes keep staring back at him through the mirror.

He is not a mermaid anymore.

He is not quite an ice tiger either.

His face is too smooth, his jawline has yet to get firmer, there’s till baby fat in his cheeks; and his hair, his hair that frames his still delicate features, God, his fucking _hair_ —

Yuri tries to be discreet when he rummages through the supplies bag in the locker room, choosing a moment in which everyone is concentrated adjusting Mila’s costume, he tries to be discreet and retrieves a pair of scissors and rushes back to the bathroom.

It would be easier with an electric clipper, but this will make do, Yuri thinks, as he slowly retrieves a long lock of hair next to his face and trims it, slowly, carefully, sees the hair falling down the drain, he supposes he can cut it all just in time—

“Yuri? Yuri! Hey! What are you doing? Put that down!” Georgi, of all people, enters the male bathroom and quickly makes a scandal.

Before Yuri can notice, Yakov yanks the pair of scissors out of his hand and forcefully grabs him by the shoulders, “Yuri, what the hell were you thinking? What were you doing?”

“I was…” a dry swallow but defiant words “… I was just cutting my hair, old man.”

“Are you stupid? You think you are, what, some professional hairdresser that can cut your own hair? Jesus, Yurachka, you’re not a child anymore…”

“It’s just hair, Yakov. It’s not important.”

“Oh, sure, it’s not important. Then let’s do this: when the season is over, you go to a salon and get it cut, get a buzzcut even if that’s what you want, but as of right now I _forbid you_ of touching your hair. It’s an important part of your number just like your jumps.”

Yuri wants to refute that, wants to say that long hair is not in the guidelines of the ISU, but Yakov cuts him again, a little gentler this time “Take the day off, Yurachka. Go cool down your head, before you try to do something idiotic again.”

\---

“Yurio, wait.”

Yuri is walking down the parking lot of the rink when Viktor’s voice catches him off guard. He sounds worried, a little upset, even, although Yuri can’t understand why he would be, but still, he humors Viktor a little bit.

“Your owner is gonna realize you got off the leash, you know” he answers, not turning to see what Viktor’s expression looks like.

Surprisingly, Viktor just chuckles, “ _My_ owner, you say? You know… It’s getting late. Do you want a drive home?”

“My apartment is not so far away from here. I can take the bus.”

“Alright, then, consider this: Yakov wants me to talk to you. And Yuuri agrees with him that I should talk to you.”

Yuri finally turns around to stare at Viktor, and he could be touched by the gesture but instead his blood is boiling.

“I don’t need a ‘talk’, Viktor. Fuck off” Yuri answers, spilling fire.

“I’m afraid you don’t have a saying in this. Get in the car with me, because we _are_ going to have a conversation.”

Viktor’s voice is devoid of any lightness by now, but the weighting concern still lingers.

“And if I refuse to talk to you?” Yuri asks.

“Well, you’re the one Yakov is going to yell at, not me” Viktor smiles and Yuri wants to punch him.

Yuri wants to punch him, but after rummaging his options, the boy sighs in defeat and follows Viktor to his expensive car.

As he gets in, sits down on the front seat, Yuri notices the car looks tidier than last time he had to rode in it. Yuuri is _definitely_ rubbing off on Viktor.

(The peculiar scent mixture of dog smell and expensive cologne still prevails in the air, though.) 

“Do you like Fleetwood Mac, Yurio?” Viktor asks as he absentmindedly taps his phone.

“I never heard of it.”

“Well, I like it a lot; mostly because my _mama_ loves it. Hopefully, you’ll like it as well.”

Viktor smiles and starts the vehicle, as the upbeat [sound](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p6Fdm3-dnr0) of acoustic guitars and a couple singing fills their ears.

They don’t talk much for a while, with Viktor driving around Saint Petersburg, clearly _not_ taking Yuri home. Viktor hums along the music, glances sideways sometimes to check on Yuri; eventually the first track ends and the [next one](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w23NS_4uMV8) begins, and the man sings along, very quietly.

His singing voice is actually not bad, if only a little husky.

“I really like this song,” Viktor comments “I could always see myself in it. Well… _Listen_ to myself in it, maybe.”

“Why?” Yuri actually wants to know, for once.

“I don’t really know. I guess it’s the melancholia, the subject about dreams, the loneliness. Whenever I’m feeling really down, I listen to it and revel in my own solitude.”

“And does it work?”

“A little bit. The only true medicine to solitude is company, however.”

Viktor’s tone is not smug, it’s not distant; he actually sounds truthful and vulnerable for once, and Yuri never, ever thought that he would get the chance to see the man like this, being illuminated by the streetlights, in the silence of his own car, talking about sad music and feeling sad. Yuri knows that Viktor is not the ray of sunshine he tries to appear to be, he figured as much; but he never thought he would be able to peek through the cracks in the mask.  

“Did you... Did you hate the costume?” Viktor asks after some minutes and Yuri remembers that, _right_.

They are here to _talk_.

“The costume was okay. That’s… That’s not the problem” Yuri answers and he figures that the general atmosphere is affecting him enough that he doesn’t even try to lie or dismiss the conversation.

“Then I don’t really understand what is happening, Yurio. What is it? Did it look wrong when you tried it?”

“Well, yes. That’s a way of putting it.”

“But how so? What did you feel when you looked at yourself in that mirror, Yurio?”

“I… I felt…” Yuri finds a loose thread in his jacket and decides it’s the most interesting sight in the car.

“I felt really beautiful” it’s a quiet confession, albeit a painful one.

“But, of course you looked beautiful… You _are_ beautiful, Yura” if he craned his head, Yuri could probably see the frown in Viktor’s face right now.

“No, I’m not, I can’t be beautiful because boys… _Men_ are not ‘beautiful’, Viktor.”

“ _Oh._ ”

Outside, the sky is getting darker by the minute.

“Men are not pretty, men are not beautiful, they are handsome and that is not even important because men are… Strong. Independent.”

Viktor drums his fingers on the steering wheel, “And who told you what men are and are not?”

“It’s just… How it is. How it’s always been.”

“ _Hm_ , well, I don’t agree with that. I think of myself as ‘beautiful’ and as ‘pretty’ more than ‘handsome’. Yuuri, too, is ‘beautiful’ and ‘pretty’ instead of ‘handsome’. Are we not men because of that?”

“No offense, but neither of you are really what I would call ‘manly’, at all.”

“And is that even important, Yurio? A man needs to be manly to be a man? Is ‘being a man’ even a concept to aspire for?”

(Of course, _Viktor_ wouldn’t understand. None of them really do.)

“Did it really never bother you when people would think you were a girl, Viktor? When you had long hair?” Yuri asks.

“Of course not, I actually _loved_ when people thought I was a girl. I thought that being a boy was _so boring_ because you were expected to _not_ wear makeup and pretty clothes and I wanted that so much.”

“ _Yes_ , exactly, that’s my point: you like all that shit. You. I don’t.”

Viktor hummed, thoughtful “You don’t like _what_ exactly?”

“I don’t,” Yuri is probably going to rip the loose thread of his jacket at some point, “I don’t like girly stuff, I don’t like sparkling things. People put the title of ‘Russian Fairy’ on me because I’m small but I hate it, I absolutely hate it. I _never_ asked to be the Russian Fairy.”

Viktor actually really _looks_ at Yuri for the first time since they got in the car.

“Is _that_ why you skated to that _ridiculous_ _song_ in your gala?” he asks Yuri.

“Yes, _duh_. Because I wanted people to see me as _man_ for once and not a girl. I’m so sick of everyone calling me a girl.”

“But, Yuri, you’re not a ‘man’, you’re only _sixteen_. You still have so much to grow, so much to learn and to mature …”

“That’s so easy for you to say, Viktor, because when _you_ were sixteen you were already taller and broader than me and people respected you way more.”

Viktor sighs.

“ _For the record_ ,” Viktor says “I am very sorry that you don’t like how the media treats you. I don’t think it’s alright for people to call you names if you don’t like these names.”

“ _However_ ,” he proceeds “I want you to think, Yurio, about the reasons why being called ‘a fairy’ bothers you so much in the first place.”

“What do you mean?” Yuri huffs.

“People call you a fairy, yes, but it’s never out of respect. They aren’t insulting you; they _admire_ you for being a ‘fairy’. If the word bothers you so much then, maybe, you should ask yourself if it isn’t because you think being ‘a fairy’ is shameful.”

Yuri wonders if he can jump out of a moving car and not die.

“Shut up, Viktor. You’re talking shit.”

“Am I? _You’re_ the one who chose the song, Yurachka. You’re the one that suggested the mermaid theme _in the first place_. I don’t think you really hate feminine things as much as you _want to_ hate.”

Yuri looks through the glass until his vision blurs with the lights.

“I just… I feel like nobody is ever going to respect me as long as I still look this… Waifish.”

“But people really _do_ respect you, Yuri. You have so much determination in your eyes, how could they not? And those who don’t, they shouldn’t matter.

“You said people always respected me best, but that’s not really true. I was teased a lot by older men when I was younger and I was entering the Senior division, but now I understand that they probably just felt intimidated by me. I _was_ called names a lot at first, Yuri.

“But, I _made_ them respect me. And I never changed myself, I never cut my hair or stop wearing extravagant clothing to the rink because of them. I made them respect me _because_ of that.”

“Then why did you cut your hair, anyway?” Yuri asks as an automatic response.

He regrets it immediately.

“ _Ah_ ” Viktor’s sigh sounds absolutely exasperated “I was young and dumb and I fried my hair. That’s just it.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. You can imagine my beautiful _platinum silver hair_ isn’t natural, I just use a toner; my natural hair is a boring, boring shade of ashy blonde. I wanted to bleach my hair white for a season, but tried to do it all by myself. It didn’t go well, obviously, and I had to cut it all away.”

“That’s it? You were dumb and you lost your hair?”

“That’s a way of putting it” Viktor laughs but his laughter is pained “I spent _years_ mourning my hair, and it never grew back the same. You were lucky Georgi saw you before you did something really stupid.”

“Speaking of which” Viktor continues while he pulls the car over and Yuri realizes they have actually arrived to his apartment in the meanwhile “What are you planning to do about your number?”

“I don’t know. I guess I want to change it, but Yakov would kill me.”

“Oh, _yes_. That, he would. Look,” Viktor unbuckles his seatbelt and faces Yuri “I don’t expect you to fully understand what we discussed tonight. We can revise the costume and tone down a lot of things later if you want to, if that would make you more comfortable.

“But for your _own_ sake, don’t try to suggest a new number at a time like this because all it’s going to happen is that Yakov will shout at you so hard and so much, the man will have a heart attack. _Trust me_.”

Viktor winks at him and Yuri actually laughs at that “Yeah. The old man is a pain in the ass but we don’t want him to die.”

Awkward silence hangs between them.

“Are you okay to sleep alone tonight?” Viktor asks “We could have a sleepover at my place. Yuuri bought his video games along, you two could play, we could eat candy and watch bad movies.”

“Did Yuuri tell you to invite me over?”

“Ah, yes, he did. You got me.”

“Well, I can’t anyway, I have to feed my cats. But… Thank you. I guess” Yuri’s voice absolutely _does not crack_ when he answers.

“I mean it, though. You will find yourself someday, so don’t force it. It will come naturally.”

“Thanks.”

They bid their goodnights and Yuri can hear Viktor pulling away as he closes the building’s door behind himself.

(Later that night, Yuri would look at the mirror and feel a little relieved he didn’t really cut his hair.)

\---

Yuri stands at the entrance of the ice rink in Skate America, his breath even as the cold air hits his face.

The costume itches at his skin, the stickiness of the lipstick on his lips is weird, but the speaker announces Yuri Plisetsky’s name to the crowd, and the boy takes a step forward, and skates, and dives.

**Author's Note:**

> _"A woman is alive, a woman is alive_   
>  _You do not take her for a sign_   
>  _In nacre on a stone, alone, unfaceted and fine_
> 
> _And never will I wed_   
>  _I'll hunt the pearl of death to the bottom of my life_   
>  _And ever hold my breath till I may be the diver's wife_
> 
> _See how the infinite divides_  
>  _And the divers are not to blame_  
>  _For the rift spanning distant shores_  
>  _You don’t know my name_  
>  _But I know yours"_  
>  illustrations here were done by yours truly  
> Yurio's outfit is, ofc, inspired by [Yuzuru Hanyu's](https://sportymags.files.wordpress.com/2015/01/img_4466.jpg)  
> as always, english is not my first language and this was un'betaed, sorry.
> 
> mostly, I guess, this is an ode to poor Yuri Plisetsky and my take on how this fandom mistreats him
> 
> tumblr @ [what-she-came-for](http://what-she-came-for.tumblr.com/)  
> twitter @ [florescativas](http://twitter.com/florescativas/)
> 
> anyway, SEXUALITY IS FLUID AND GENDER ISN'T REAL B YE


End file.
